


Grief of the People

by kyprian



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Gen, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyprian/pseuds/kyprian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Peleus, if you let it live, this will be the child that outstrips you. Do you really want a daughter? She will be beautiful, but there are many beautiful women in the world. Your kingdom needs a prince.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grief of the People

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about Achilles as a trans man, and how sea goddesses might react to having the wrong gender of baby. NOT WELL, apparently.

The wind was cold, and smelled of salt. White sand pooled against black rock, stretching against the sea for miles. In a small, brown hut by the shore, golden light winked and flickered; low voices murmured in the doorway, swallowed up by the breeze.

Peleus’ horse shifted restlessly under him. This was not a natural place, and the road he had taken to come here had filled the beast with fear. She was calmer now, but still smelled of sweat and stress. His guide, a short man, clothed in a simple white tunic, handed the mare’s reins to Peleus.

“I can go no further here, your majesty,” he said.  
Peleus nodded. “I understand. She is within, then?”  
“Aye, and your son, too.”

A curious, cold feeling settled into the back of Peleus’ throat. A year ago, he had come to this same place, dressed in finery, and attended by a dozen servants. They had slaughtered cattle and sung hymns before crossing into this netherworld of sea and stone. Now, he returned, to gather the fruits of that labor.

Slowly, he began to descend a rocky path to the shore. His mare held her ears flat as they descended, the clop of her hooves echoing into the night sky. It seemed to take forever, but eventually, he came to the door of the hut. He dismounted, and did not bother to tie up his horse before entering; he knew that the beast would not wander in this place.

The inside of the hut was stark and simple. The last time that he had come, the house had been a palace, with cool tile floors, guttering torches set in bronze bowls and beautiful woven cloths hung on the wall. It had been his marriage day, and his new bride, beautiful and golden, had explained to him that the palace changed its look in accordance with her moods. And so, Peleus wondered how he would find his bride in this rude little house.

Seated in front of the fire, her tunic creased elegantly across her back; white linen against polished oak.  Her dark hair was piled high, formally braided and crowned with twinkling blue gems. She did not breathe.

Peleus walked slowly around, not sure how to begin. She was, after all, his wife, and owed him obedience, but she was also a goddess, and the king was not a foolish man, to risk her unhappiness.

“Daughter of the sea,” he began, but she raised a hand to silence him.  
“You have come for your son?”  She turned to look at Peleus, her eyes were the color of warm water over white sand.  
“I have, my wife,” he said. His voice was more tender, now.  
“You have come early, then, husband. For I have given birth, it is true, but we are not delivered of a son, as was promised us.”

Peleus drew in his breath sharply. He knew, of course, that he ran a risk when he took a goddess to bed; he had heard tell of Minotaurs, spined hydras and dread basilisks. But the Oracle had promised him a firstborn, human child, and he had not worried overmuch. He looked down from his wife’s perfect face, and saw that she held a swaddled infant at her breast. While most of the child was covered by cloth, its face, at least, seemed human enough, with bright red hair and flabby cheeks.

He reached down to touch the child, and it took ahold of his finger. The child had a surprisingly strong grip.

His wife looked up sharply. Her movements were alarmingly precise; sliding smoothly into each expression. “Look you,” she said, as she unwrapped the swaddling cloth.  
Peleus looked hard at the child, then he laughed. “Is that all? I was afraid that we had birthed a monster.”  
Thetis’ expression remained inscrutable. “Peleus, if you let it live, this will be the child that outstrips you. Do you really _want_ a daughter? She will be beautiful, but there are many beautiful women in the world. Your kingdom needs a prince.”  
“What, then, would you have me do with this girl?”

Her expression was a hidden reef in stormy weather.

“Kill her.”

Blood drained from the king’s face. “Are you mad? You were courted by Zeus and Poseidon for this child. Do you think that the goddesses beneath the earth will not take note of her spilled blood?”  
“If we do not spill blood, then the gracious ones will have no need to look for vengeance. We can leave her to the rocks and the sea, or if you like, I will give her to the fire. And when she is dead, I will come to you again.”  
Something about the goddess shifted, and she was no longer ice, but warm and beautiful, like silver under sunlight. Peleus felt himself grow painfully hard; he knew that he could not argue with her.

Thetis did not wait for her husband’s response, but the air stirred briefly, and the hut grew huge around them, changing into a hall of black stone. The hut’s simple hearth had grown to match the proportions of the hall; it was now a large, stone basin, where smoke drifted up to meet the stars. At a word from Thetis, the simmering coals burst into flame, radiating a dizzying heat and light.

Thetis stood, and her hair tumbled down from its elaborate coif, becoming a waterfall of dark silk.

Holding the child, she walked into the fire.

The smell was awful. Peleus could smell burning hair and roasting meat. Suddenly, the child let out an anguished wail, her scream shockingly loud. The king had heard men die before, and he closed his ears to the sound, and waited for his wife.

She seemed to stand in the fire for a year, or maybe it was only the length of a heartbeat. Peleus did not know how to measure the time that passed; he simply stood and stared at her, while the fire leapt up towards her bronze skin, before sizzling out, as though doused by rain.

The child, though, was not so lucky. The skin turned red at first, then puckered into darker purple hues and ashy grey before it finally stopped screaming.

The fire died down gradually. Thetis was perfectly still, more like carved marble than flesh and blood. Peleus ached with desire.

Finally, she turned toward him from the glowing coals. Her red lips were creased in a frown, and she held the dead child.  
“She lives yet,” Thetis said.

Lost for words, and amazed, Peleus said the first thing that came to his mind. “What do you want to call her, then?”


End file.
